


Who is in control?

by 2kitsune



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Rocket, Complete, D/s undertones, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Here have this filth, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, M/M, Rocket bottoming from the top, Rough Sex, Size Differences, Size Kink, Swearing, Tags will be updated, gun!kink, top!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11684484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2kitsune/pseuds/2kitsune
Summary: If you looked at Peter and Rocket’s relationship you would assume Peter was in control. He’s taller, after all, and in a position of authority as the Milano’s captain. Whereas Rocket is just a ‘rodent’, in charge of arms and weapons and nothing more. But, perhaps their relationship wasn’t as transparent as others though, perhaps it was the little guy who was in charge this time.





	Who is in control?

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent gun!kink fic. I don’t really have much more to say than that. Peter is probably most definitely gonna come out a little ooc, but there’s really nothing I can do about that. Also, I rlly need a door sign saying ‘do not come in: writing in progress’ or something bc my parents walked in so many times while I was writing this fic and I’ve never moved so fast in my life to hide my screen. 
> 
> Also this’ll probably be shorter than my normal writing, so I apologize. I was really unsure whether I should have Rocket actually fuck Peter in this, or have him fuck himself on Peter; I guess you’ll see what I decided when this fic comes out.

If you looked at Peter and Rocket’s relationship, one would assume Peter was in charge. Peter was the captain of the Milano, he called most of the shots, and apart from his self-destructive tendency to put himself in harm’s way if it meant his friends would leave unscathed, he was pretty good at his job. The guardians respected him, some more than others, and trusted him to make plans that, although they sounded stupid, ended up somehow working. Rocket, however, you would assume wasn’t much in charge of anything. Sure, he was loud, abrasive, and swore enough that even the most hardened sailor would blush, but his height and the fact he was a ‘rodent’ generally made people overlook him. This, of course, was a fatal mistake. Rocket was the arms specialist in the Guardians for a reason. 

 

There was another part of their relationship however, that most didn’t know. No one but the Guardians knew they were ‘together’ or, ‘fuck buddies’ as Rocket so eloquently put it. Still, even if you were lucky enough to know about that part of their relationship, it was still assumed that Peter was the one in control. 

 

But, this wasn’t exactly true. 

 

-

It was well past ‘midnight’ on the Milano. Peter and Rocket had just finished their shift, which consisted of sitting in the cockpit with auto- pilot on, and were clapped on the back by a very sleepy Gamora who was next to guard the ship on the way to their quarters. Since saving the Galaxy, twice, and the Milano being upgraded, everyone’s quarters were accessible from the one hallway. Peter, Rocket’s and Groot’s stood on one side, Peter and Rocket being right beside each-others, and Gamora, Drax and Mantis’s being on the other. So, it seemed effortless in the way Rocket casually followed Peter into his room, rather than those extra three steps that would bring himself to his own door. With a glance over his shoulder, mostly to make sure that no one had seen them both walk into Peter’s room, Peter hit the button that made his door slide shut and lock. They were alone. 

 

“Bed.” Rocket says into the slightly chilly air. Peter complies immediately, but still gives Rocket ‘the look’. He slides onto his bed, folds his hands into place against his stomach, and waits for Rocket to tell him what to do next. In Rocket’s general direction Peter could hear clothing being unzipped, and the faint sound of leather against fur, along with the unmistakable sound of clothing being discarded to the side. The next pause is long enough that Peter almost, almost, looks to the side and disobeys Rocket, although Rocket hadn’t actually said anything about Peter moving or not; but, then Peter feels his mattress dip and bites back a smile. 

 

Rocket appears in Peter’s field of vision naked, it had taken a while but Rocket was comfortable being completely naked with his cybernetics on display, although he wasn’t completely OK with Peter touching them, at least not all the time, and holding a gun. Peter’s stomach jumps, and his breathing quickens, and he feels his pants tighten. Rocket notices immediately and smirks as he climbs over Peter, one of his hands working over his own semi- hard cock. It’s almost like a humans’, the only notable difference being the color and enough on the thin side to not pass as human. To start with it had seemed a little weird to Peter that a raccoon had a human cock, but now as it hangs in the air right in front of his eyes Peter swallows heavily in anticipation to get it in his mouth.

His wish is soon answered. Rocket climbs over him completely till he’s practically sitting on Peter’s face, holding himself just high enough with his knees. But, before Rocket issues the kind of command Peter wants like, ‘suck’ or ‘take it’, he puts both hands on his gun and pumps it. Peter’s pulse jumps at the sound, and his pants grow impossibly tight. 

 

“It’s loaded,” Says Rocket, smirk doubling in size. “Cocked too, so all I’d have to do is pull the trigger and your brains’d blow out of your skull. I’m in charge, capiche?” Peter nods hurriedly, not one to mess around with a loaded gun, that and he wanted Rocket so bad at this point. Seeming to know this Rocket moves purposely slow as he brings the gun down to Peter’s temple, pressing the cool metal of the barrel against his burning hot skin. In his ear Peter can hear it the quiet whine of it, and swallows heavily. Rocket wasn’t lying, the raccoon really was holding a loaded and cocked gun to his head. His cock, now painfully hard, twitched; this was one of his more dangerous kinks, but it was a kink for exactly that reason. 

 

“Now,” Drawls Rocket as he lowers himself down, using one hand to push his cock against Peter’s lips. Peter obediently opens them, but Rocket keeps his cockhead pressed just against the rim of Peter’s lips. “Suck my cock.” He pushes himself inside of Peter’s mouth, and the sandy blond immediately wraps his lips around the velvety flesh of Rocket’s cock. It’s almost like finally getting an ice-cold beer after a long day of work, or getting to kill someone you’ve been chasing halfway through the galaxy. Either way Peter moans around Rocket’s cock, pressing his tongue against the underside as he sucks, enjoying the faint saltiness that comes from the pre-cum that had been glistening over the head of Rocket’s cock. 

 

Rocket forces himself inside of Peter’s mouth, not once pausing or asking Peter if he’s okay with what’s happening. It’s OK though, because Peter likes it like that, likes the idea of being nothing more than something for Rocket to use. The gun to his head brought out a whole new feeling of initiative to please, even though Peter knew that Rocket would never actually blow his brains out. Peter eagerly takes it as Rocket pushes himself in, deeper and deeper, Peter having to relax his throat because Rocket is longer than he is thick, until his entire cock is in Peter’s mouth. Peter’s nose brushes against Rocket’s fur, tickling slightly. The feral growl Rocket lets out when Peter deliberately swallows, low and deep, is absolutely worth the almost- gagging and the tears forming in his eyes. 

 

The barrel of the gun presses a little harder as Rocket uses his free hand to grip Peter’s hair, forcing himself further down Peter’s throat. Peter takes it in stride, more than used to the rough treatment. His cock jumps at the sound Rocket makes as Peter swallows again, dragging his tongue more deliberately against the bottom of Rocket’s dick. The claws come out when Peter starts humming, digging slightly into the sandy blond’s scalp. It doesn’t hurt. But, even if it did, Peter wouldn’t stop. 

 

“Oh fuck, Quill,” Rocket begins a slow pace of his thrusting his hips, pulling back and pushing back in at a torturous speed, pausing when his cock is halfway down Peter’s throat, using his hand in Peter’s hair to bring the sandy blond head forwards so he could thrust his cock deeper, and Peter takes that time to tease a few more growls out of Rocket. “You’re so fucking good at sucking cock.” Rocket pulls his cock from Peter’s mouth with an obscene pop, saliva following and when Rocket moves too far away the string breaks and paints Peter’s chin. 

 

Peter, catching his breath, winks at Rocket and says. “I learnt from the best.” 

 

It earns him a slap to the chest, “Shut the hell up, Quill,” Rocket says and pulls the gun away, looking away distractedly to the side at Peter’s bedside table, dropping the gun to the mattress beside Peter’s head. It’s almost concerning how carelessly Rocket does so, seeing as the gun was ready to be fired and could go off from the smallest wrong move. 

 

“Lube?” Rocket asks, raising and eyebrow as he looks back down at Peter. It takes a second for Peter’s brain to catch up, he’s still a little distracted by Rocket’s cock hanging right there between them. He kind of wasn’t finished sucking Rocket off, and Peter’s mouth felt a little empty without Rocket’s cock to keep it occupied. 

 

“Top drawer, hidden inside the orange boxers,” Peter’s voice is husky from sucking cock, and he has to clear his throat a couple of times. Rocket shoots him an odd look, eyebrow cocked, and Peter adds sheepishly, “I didn’t want anyone to go through my drawers and just find it.” 

 

Rocket rolls his eyes, “Quill, we all know you jerk off.” He says, before going back to rummaging through Peter’s drawers for the lube. Peter, still slightly pink from being called out like that, lies back as he watches Rocket move, feeling the gun pressing against the side of his head where Rocket had discarded it. It doesn’t take Rocket long to find it, not that Peter had hidden it extremely well. Soon Rocket’s back in place, except now he’s sitting more over Peter’s chest rather than his head, holding the lube in plain view. 

 

“I,” Rocket starts as he leans down, flicking the cap of the lube open. Peter leans his head back instinctively, exposing his jugular, and Rocket immediately goes for it, nipping with his sharp teeth. He still has silvery marks from all the times Rocket had gotten a little too carried away, leaving a scar in his wake, but still Peter would never tell Rocket no. He likes being marked. “Want you to finger me. And then, I’m gonna fuck myself on your cock, and you’re not allowed to touch me at all.” 

 

Peter whines, “But-“ 

 

Rocket shushes him with a firm bite to his adams apple, hard enough that there’d be a bruise there tomorrow and quite possibly a new scar for Peter to admire in his own time. OK, so Rocket really meant business. Peter swallowed his pride, and mentally zipped his lips shut, as Rocket clapped the lube in his hand and pressed his snout into the curve of Peter’s throat to continue marking his territory. Grumbling to himself, Peter squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers and dropped the bottle to his side. He didn’t notice Rocket moving either, not until the familiar circle ending of the gun was pressed against his head again, albeit a little more loosely, making Peter move with a little more purpose. The bites that Rocket were leaving against Peter’s neck, ones that were quickly becoming rougher and that Peter were sure would eventually draw blood, were proving to be distracting as he pressed his finger against Rocket’s twitching hole. 

 

“Fuckin’ hurry up, Quill.” Rocket growls, rolling his hips back against Peter’s finger and pressing the gun harder against Peter’s temple. A hard bite to the curve of Peter’s neck has the sandy blond quickening his pace, passing his finger over Rocket’s pink hole and relishing in the way the raccoon's breathing stutters against his own skin, before pushing in. It’s tight, tighter than Peter thought it would be, and hot and wet. They had done this before, just messing around with fingers, but never with the pretense of Peter’s cock ending up inside of Rocket. Peter had always worried he’d hurt Rocket because of his size, and because despite his big personality Rocket was still quite small in stature, but with a gun to his head and Rocket encouragingly rolling his hips back against the feeling; Peter is positive he’s not going to have a chance to speak his concerns. As Peter pushes his first knuckle inside of Rocket, he becomes acutely aware of the way Rocket’s breath is fanning over against his neck. But, he’s not sure if he could press in much further. Peter pauses, finger inside Rocket, and instead gently begins pushing in and out with his finger. It seems to be enough, and Rocket doesn’t complain about the slow pace as he bites at Peter’s neck, slowly and carefully fucking himself back against Peter’s finger. Eventually though Rocket is more than used to the finger inside of him, easily rolling his hips down on it, cock bouncing between them, but Peter’s still hesitant. 

 

Sensing this, Rocket growls and pushes himself up. “I’m not gonna’ fuckin’ break, Quill,” He growls. The gun’s whining grows in pitch, loud enough now that Peter noticed it much more clearly rather than it being background noise. “I need more tha’ one of your fingers if you’re gonna’ fuck me, so hurry tha’ fuck up.” 

 

Not wanting to have his brains blown out Peter complies, pushing in another finger and groaning low in his throat at the tightness that clenches around his fingers. He can only imagine how that’s going to feel around his aching cock. At the second finger Rocket’s free hand scrambles to grab onto his shirt, nails easily cutting through the fabric to scratch Peter’s pectorals. Peter watches Rocket face twist as Peter slowly pushes in, in, in until his second finger is up to the first knuckle. Rocket, who had lolled his head back, eyes screwed shut with pleasure, looked down sharply at Peter when he paused and pressed the barrel of the gun harder against Peter’s head. Quickly Peter slowly pulls out both fingers before pushing back in, sinking deeper and deeper each time until he’s up to his second knuckle inside of Rocket. Once his fingers were sinking in with ease and there was no friction, and Rocket was pushing back against the feeling, Peter slowly starting scissoring Rocket open; his cock twitching at the way Rocket’s groaned low in his throat.   
The third finger sinks in surprisingly easy, probably due to the thorough way Peter stretched Rocket open on just two. The fourth goes in easier still, and Rocket’s low groans turn to something higher and breathier, despite his usually hardened personality. If he happened to look in a mirror right now Peter would see that his neck spotted in black and purple, sets of teeth marks set sporadically against the rare patches of skin that hadn’t been touched. It’s not until Rocket’s rolling his hips back down on Peter’s four fingers, the slide smooth and without any friction, that Rocket pulls forwards enough for Peter’s fingers to slide out with an obscene pop that makes even Peter flush a little pink.   
Rocket gives him a smirk and places the gun to the side, leaning back to place a palm over Peter’s neglected cock. It twitches immediately under Rocket’s grip, quickly growing from the half-chub he had been supporting since starting to finger Rocket to full hardness. Rocket, feeling it, smirks down at Peter and twists the angle of the gun against Peter’s forehead. 

 

“You’re that hard just from fingering me?” Rocket drawls as he palms at Peter’s erection, following the curve with a loosely circled paw, both simultaneously enough and not enough at the same time. “You have it bad, Quill.” Not looking away from Peter, Rocket unzips Peter’s belt and zipper, eyebrow raising when his paw immediately touches Peter’s bare flesh but not saying anything, and reaches inside to pull Peter’s cock out of his restricting pants. Peter hisses when the cool air of the ship hits his aching member, rolling his hips up into the loose fist Rocket makes around his cock. It’s like bliss, finally getting some friction after not getting any at all while Rocket’s been having all the fun, and Peter lolls his head back at the feeling, about to potentially cry in relief. The barrel of the gun has since warmed up with his skin, and slid slightly from the sweat that had accumulated on Peter’s temple when Rocket lets go of him completely again. 

 

Peter whines at the loss of contact, and immediately receives another rough smack to his chest. 

 

“Shut up.” Rocket growls as he shuffles downward. It’s a little bit of a stretch for Rocket to be able to hold Peter’s member and keep the gun to Peter’s temple, but Rocket’s not a quitter. Peter holds breath as Rocket shifts so he’s holding more of his weight on his legs and, his free hand on Peter’s cock to guide it, presses it against his entrance. It catches against the rim to start with, at which Rocket lets out a growl, but as he presses down harder the tip slowly starts to push in. Both males breathing catches as the head of Peter’s cock slowly pushes in, having to stop and wait a few times because Rocket’s so goddamn tight and hot and wet, even after just being stretched open, tighter than anything Peter had ever experienced. 

 

Finally, after several torturous minutes, the head of Peter’s cock finally pushes in and both men pause, panting and sweating. The presence of the gun had been forgotten, but Rocket still grasped it loosely by Peter’s head. Peter has to stop himself from instinctively pushing inside further, the tight feeling of Rocket clenched around him almost enough to make Peter lose control, clenching his own hands into the bedspread beneath him to stop himself. There hadn’t been any verbal cue to let Peter know he’s allowed to be touching Rocket now, not after the warning earlier not to touch, and so he didn’t dare touch Rocket when the raccoon didn’t want to be touched, or didn’t want to allow Peter to touch him.   
Rocket’s never been one to quit, and so he’s quick to start moving again. Slowly he took more and more of Peter inside of him, the sandy blond cursing under his breath of the tight wet heat around his aching cock, until Rocket had taken as much of Peter as he could inside. 

 

“Move,” Rocket immediately growls. Peter shoots him a look, one of warning and worry, but Rocket just scoffs and starts pushing himself up again. “I don’t wanna’ fuckin’ hear it,” Rocket snaps at him, paying no attention to the sound Peter makes when Rocket slips a little too low and hisses in response. “Fuck me, Quill.” Still, apparently Peter doesn’t move quick enough, because Rocket’s still pushing himself up and then letting himself slide down, breath hitching every time Peter is deep inside of him. 

 

Peter feels his lower stomach heat up as he pushes back, starting with a slow roll to meet Rocket as he comes back down. They start of a hesitant pace, although most of the hesitancy is coming from Peter not Rocket, slowly gaining speed and pressure the easier his cock slides in and out of Rocket. Peter’s pace soon turns out to be not enough, and Rocket takes complete control, shooting Peter a smirk as he raises up and slides himself down on Peter’s member, riding him like a seasoned pro. Maybe he was, Peter had never asked, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t just a little intimidated at how quickly Rocket’s riding had the heat in his stomach growing, pleasure zinging through his veins. If Rocket kept riding him with such vigor, Peter absolutely wasn’t going to last long. 

 

The gun to the side of Peter’s head had been forgotten, by Peter at least. Rocket hadn’t forgotten about it though, and in the middle of slamming himself down on Peter’s cock he reaches forwards and grabs it. As soon as the gun came into view, clenched in Rocket’s paw, Peter’s pleasure grew. He looked up in awe of Rocket as the raccoon pressed the gun right above Peter’s heart, the whine unmistakable between the sounds of their pleasure, and the pressure enough to make Peter’s breathing hitch in his throat. His gun kink was really out of control, but something told him Rocket found it far more arousing if how red Rocket’s cock was anything to go by, pre-cum oozing from the slit and flicking onto Peter’s tanned stomach with every bounce. 

 

Slowly Peter stops thrusting into Rocket, content with watching Rocket ride him. Rocket doesn’t notice, and if he does he doesn’t say anything. The gun is a constant pressure on his chest as Rocket fucks him, hips swiveling and rolling as he pushes up and down. The constant exertion is making him sweat, and so Peter subtly places his hands-on Rocket’s upper thighs, surprised when Rocket doesn’t push them off. Normally during power plays like this, Rocket didn’t allow Peter to touch. 

 

Suddenly Rocket sinks down a couple more inches than he had before, and lets out a loud growl of, “Oh fuck!” furrowing his eyebrows as he tries to sink down further again. Peter had hit his prostate. Peter feels like his insides are molten lava, and that he’s about to burn up, and the sight of Rocket gaining pleasure from riding him makes Peter all that more turned on. 

 

“Oh shit,” Peter finally can’t keep quiet, feeling himself slowly coming closer to the edge. “Rocket, fuck, you’re so fucking – fuck!” It feels like his dick is disappearing with how quickly he’s being squeezed, Rocket clenching around his cock every time he sinks down completely on Peter. It’s almost embarrassing at how quickly this is all happening, but the sensation of Rocket riding him an inch from his life, coupled with the imagery of Rocket completely sitting down on his cock, was turning to be a sensory overload. Plus, the gun still pressed right above his heart, and the fact that one press of the trigger and Peter would most definitely be killed. The lava in his stomach grew and grew in heat, the zinging of pleasure withdrawing right from the edges of his fingers, his toes, to his centre. 

 

“Don’t-“ Rocket starts, panting. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ cum before me Quill, I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘ya if you do,” To prove his point he presses the gun down harder, and his free hand clenches down on Peter’s thigh, nails digging into Peter’s skin, “I swear I will.” 

 

Peter grins despite himself. Having enough of just lying there, and because he was close to cumming anyway, begins fucking up into Rocket as the raccoon slammed down. “Better hurry up then,” He teases, ignoring the bite of Rocket’s nails into his thigh. He’d have a mark there tomorrow. “Because I’m real’ fuck – ah! Close to cummin’.” Peter doesn’t hold back as he roughly slams his hips up, meeting Rocket each time. It’s a bad idea, because it makes his orgasm step up from racing to all out sprinting towards the end. The next time they had sex, and with how often they fucked that could be anywhere to the next couple of hours to tomorrow, Peter was absolutely going to suggest this position again. 

 

Rocket growls, “Fuckin’ close. Don’t fuckin’ stop.” Working himself down even harder than before, a feat that Peter hadn’t thought possible. 

 

Suddenly all the pleasure rushes to Peter’s head, and his vision goes white as he cums the hardest he ever had in his life, even harder than that time when he was a teenager and first fingered himself. Peter lets out a strangled moan that sounds faintly like Rocket’s name as his entire body pulses, back arching as he pushes right up into Rocket, using his feet to get extra leverage. Peter grips on for dear life to Rocket’s hips, hard enough that he’s half surprised later on, when they’re all curled up in each other and basking in the afterglow of sex, that he didn’t break Rocket’s hips; nether-the-less, there were purple bruises in the shape of Peter’s fingers the next day. Somewhere through the haze in his head Peter hears Rocket shouting out too, but he’s still busy trying to roll through his own orgasm to try and discern if it was his own name falling from Rocket’s lips.   
As Peter’s orgasm ebbs away his senses come back. First, he becomes acutely aware of how hot he was. And, a second later, he realizes it was because he now had raccoon laying against his chest. The gun Rocket had been holding, and that Peter was beyond thankful hadn’t gone off when Rocket had cum, had been pushed off to Peter’s side. The next, was how sticky he was. The evidence of Rocket’s orgasm was stuck between them, clumping in Rocket’s fur and sticking to Peter’s skin. The third, and the last sense that Peter really hated, was how tired he was from the whole exertion. 

 

“Hey,” Peter says, biting back a yawn, and pokes at Rocket. “Get up, we gotta’ shower.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Comes Rocket’s muffled voice, heavy with sleep. “Shower later, sleep now.” When Peter doesn’t quit poking Rocket raises and arm and shoves him away, but Rocket’s movements are weak and slow, more like being batted away by a toddle than an angry weapons specialist with a penchant for murdering people. It’s amusing, actually. 

 

“But-“ 

 

“Quill I swear to fuckin’ god if you-“ 

 

“Okay, fine. Sorry.” 

 

Rocket grumbles something that sounds oddly like, “Damn right.” But Peter can’t quite tell because Rocket’s pushed his snout into Peter’s chest, effectively stopping any further conversation. Sighing Peter shifts, pulling his softening member out of Rocket, and ties his hardest not to think about how his cum was probably dripping out of Rocket right now as he reaches for the tissues on his bedside table. Rocket grumbles as Peter silently cleans them as best as he could, but doesn’t move to kill him for not keeping still. The tissue is quickly discarded onto the floor and, after fumbling blindly for the blanket Peter knew he had around here – ah! Peter pulls it over them, kisses Rocket’s forehead, and closes his eyes too. He falls asleep quickly, tired after the sex he had just had. 

 

-

 

In the morning Peter’s awoken by loud swearing from Rocket, and shows up to the morning meetings an hour later with scratches on his face. No one says anything, but Peter has a feeling they all know, they’d have to be deaf not to hear how loud Rocket was yelling as Peter had tried to unstick fur-from-skin without pulling any out in the process. Not to mention how the bruises Rocket had left on his neck had turned from purple, to a mixture of black and yellows, dotted with indentions' of sharp little teeth. Peter hadn’t been able to find any of his scarves, and he didn’t have any makeup to cover them, so they were in full view of everyone else when he and Rocket finally appeared in the meeting room in the morning. 

 

Drax, upon seeing them, had opened his mouth, glanced to his right at Gamora who shook his head, and closed his mouth. There were some things that even Drax knew to leave alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading my little self indulgent gun!kink fic. Honestly, I would have liked the gun to be incorporated / referenced more but there's only so much you can do. Then again I have written a fic of someone actually being fucked with a gun for another fandom, but oh well. Anyway, sorry for rambling!
> 
> Please leave a KUDOS and a COMMENT if you'd like!


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